Traipsing Through Life
by WannabeeWriting
Summary: Dorothy "Dotty" Davis is just a regular gal trying to live her life and break into Gotham's comedy industry. Unfortunately, thanks to an incident during a bakery hold up, she finds herself pulled into Gotham's crime scene. Hopefully, she'll be able to find a way to laugh about this. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Bakery Job, Part 1

Most people feared the night in Gotham City. Civilians feared the strange assortment of criminals that operated at night, and criminals were afraid of who—or what—might be watching them in the darkness as they did their work. Dotty thought that Gotham could be beautiful at night. As she looked out the painted front windows of The Cake Lair, the bakery she worked at, she could see the light evaporate from Gotham's polluted, red skies to reveal a night sky as deep and still as dark pool. In a few minutes a full white moon would illuminate the many windows of the city's many skyscrapers. A few stars might even manage to shine through the city lights. It was warm enough for the people in the bakery to walk back outside with their coats slung over their arms, and Dotty could picture them going to the park to meet their sweethearts or riding down the street in a friend's car with all the windows rolled down. That was the Gotham that Dotty tried to see at night.

Dotty looked to the clock above the door. It was a quarter past eight. In less than two hours she could go back to her apartment. Until then, she had cupcakes to frost. Dotty was the only one at the bakery, besides Bernice, who managed the bakery for her father, who could frost a cupcake properly. That, and she liked to put sayings on the cupcakes. When she wasn't working at the bakery, she was a comedian. At least, that was what she wanted to be. So far, the Cake Lair was what was paying her bills.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Dotty looked up. A lanky man in a tweed suit was standing at the counter in front of her.

"How can I help you?" asked Dotty.

"I was wondering, Dorothy, that's your name right?" Dotty pointed to the name tag on her blouse and nodded.

"I've seen you here before," said the man.

"Yeah, I've been working here for a few years," said Dotty. She'd seen the man in the bakery before too. For the past two weeks, he'd come in every night to have coffee and read his book. He even sat at the same table, when it was available. Dotty was starting to think that he had O.C.D.

"I was wondering, Dorothy, if…I could have a one of those?" The man pointed to the plate of cupcakes. Dotty handed one to him, and watched him withdraw back to his seat.

"Oh, he's here again?"

Dotty turned around. A slight blonde woman with red cat's eye glasses stood behind her. A flour streaked apron with the bakery's name on it was thrown over an unfashionable outfit consisting of sailor pants, a jersey blouse, and oxfords. She was pretty, but always managed to look just wrong for every occasion.

"He comes in here all the time, Johanna," said Dotty.

"I think he keeps coming for the service," said Johana, wagging her eyebrows under her glasses. "He definitely doesn't keep coming for the coffee."

Dotty tilted her head in the man's direction. She thought she saw him look away from her and Johanna.

"What gives you that impression?" she asked sarcastically.

"He's kind of cute. Why don't you go over there and ask him his name? Make it easier on him."

"I'm not really in the mood," said Dotty, walking back to the kitchen. Johanna followed her.

"Come on Dotty, when you're not working at the bakery you're out auditioning. And when you're not out auditioning you're at home writing jokes. When was the last time you went out and had any fun?"

"Comedy is fun," said Dotty. She kept her back to Johanna and pretended to go over inventory in the fridge.

"I'm just saying that you need to try to do something outside of work, sometime. I know this is cliché, but you're only young once."

Dotty closed the fridge. "Johanna, listen—"

"Hey, guys?" Dotty and Johanna turned to face Bernice. Bernice was only twenty-two, three years younger than Johanna and Dotty, but she was a good boss, even though she rarely moved away from the ovens.

"Yes?" said Dotty.

"Has Alex come back from that delivery yet?" asked Bernice.

"No, how long has he been gone?" asked Dotty.

"Over an hour," said Bernice. "I've tried calling him twice."

"Try calling him again," said Dotty. "If he doesn't answer, I'll go out and look for him."

"Okay," said Bernice, turning away from them.

"Hey, Bernice," said Dotty. Bernice stopped.

"I wouldn't get too worried yet. You know how Alex is, if he's delivering to a pretty face, we might not see him again till next Monday."

Bernice smiled. "True," she said, on her way out of the kitchen.

"Do you really think he's all right?" asked Johanna.

Dotty shrugged. Alex was only nineteen, still just a kid, and in a place like Gotham some whack job could mug have mugged him, murdered him, and disposed of his body in less than an hour. But Dotty didn't like to assume to worst, and she didn't think there was any point in worrying Johana or Bernice either.

"You know, Dotty, I bet the tweed guy is getting low on coffee by now," said Johanna.

"Johanna, let it go," said Dotty. "I don't even have time to date right now. You know that comedy club I was telling you about the other day? They want me to prepare an original sketch for them—a good one—and I've got nothing. I've gone dry."

"You know, for a comedian, you take things awfully serious."

"This is serious. I've been working at this for years, and I'm just now looking at steady gig. Like you said, I'm only young once, and if I don't start working harder I could miss my chance," said Dotty.

"You just need to loosen up a little. You know, I've always thought you that you came up your best material when you weren't trying so hard," said Johanna. "And like I said, the tweed guy probably needs coffee." She picked up a coffee pot. "It won't kill you to ask him his name."

"You know, Johanna, sometimes you actually make a good point," said Dotty taking the coffee pot. "It won't kill me at all."

The sounds of gunshots suddenly filled the bakery.

"What the heck is going on?" yelled Johanna, running out the kitchen.

"Wait, don't run towards it!" yelled Dotty, running after her.

The customers in the bakery were either frozen in their seats or huddled under their tables. Bernice was standing behind the counter, phone in hand, and her arm crooked. The device had only made it half-way to her ear before three thugs in black had burst into the bakery and started shooting at the ceiling. One of them pointed his gun at Bernice.

"You!" he yelled. "Drop the phone!"

Bernice's shoulders started to shake.

"I said, drop. The. Phone!"

Dotty grabbed the phone out of Bernice's hand and threw it on the ground. She watched the phone case break off and skid under the counter. She suddenly felt numb and apathetic to what was happening, as if she were just watching a robbery scene in a move. Sluggishly she thought, who would rob a bakery?

"Ahem!"

The room seemed to get quieter as the attention turned from the gunmen to the figure standing in the doorway. Johanna grabbed Dotty by the arm.

"Dotty," she whispered.

A broad-brimmed hat cast a shadow over the face of the man in the doorway. His skin was so white that it could have belonged to a corpse, his eyes were yellow and sunken into his head, like a snake's, and blood red lips framed a wide, malicious smile. In one hand the man held a gun. In the other, he held pie.

"Excuse me, but which one of you ladies is the manager? I would like to make a complaint."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Bakery Job, Part 2

"The Joker!"

Dotty didn't know who spoke. Her attention was so focused on the man in front of her, as he strolled through up to the bakery counter, pie in hand, in his bright purple suit, that she could have spoken his name herself without realizing it. The Joker put the pie on the counter, took off his hat, and leaned against the counter on the elbow of his gun arm. He cocked his gun. Johanna squeezed Dotty's arm hard enough to cut off circulation.

"Well?" said the Joker.

"W-what?" stammered Johanna.

"I asked which one of you is the manager. Geeze! Why is that I have to repeat myself every time I pull on a gun on someone?"

The Joker laughed. Loudly. Horribly. It echoed off the walls of the bakery and made Dotty's body go rigid. Everything in the room—the scuffs on the bakery's tile floor, the cheery pink and white wallpaper, the freckles on the back of Johanna's hand—suddenly seemed closer and more real than they had a moment ago. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bernice. Her whole body was shaking. If Bernice's back had not been to her, Dotty was sure she would have seen tears running down her face.

"I am."

Dotty's mouth felt dry as she spoke.

"I am the manager."

Dotty kept her grey eyes on the Joker's yellow eyes as she gently unlatched Johanna's hand from her arm and walked over to the counter. Dotty decided that she could try to talk to him the way she would any other unhappy customer. He was a mad man, but he was just like any other customer with a complaint. Maybe, is she stayed calm and gave him what he wanted, he would leave.

"How can I help you?" she asked. The Joker laughed in her face.

"What's your name?" he asked. Before Dotty could even open her mouth to answer, the Joker was using the barrel of his gun to lift up her name tag. She stood still as he read it.

"Hmm…Dorothy. From Kansas?" Dotty resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the predictable joke.

The Joker pulled his gun away and grinned even wider. "Well, for starters, Dor-o-thy, you can take a look at this pie for me. Tell me, what do you see?"

Dotty looked at the pie, looked at the Joker, and looked at the pie again.

"Meringue?" she finally said.

"Correct!" said the Joker, slapping the service bell that sat on the counter.

"Very good, Dorothy!" said the Joker. "What else?"

Dotty shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to see. It's just a pie."

"Really? Are you sure? Look closer." Dotty got one good glance in at the pie, as the Joker slammed it into her face. She gasped and spat out meringue. The Joker roared with laughter.

"Dotty!" yelled Johanna.

Dotty wiped the pie out of her eye with the back of her hand. The Joker was laughing so hard that he was doubled over, pounding his fist against the counter.

"Oh! The look on your face! Oh! Oh, I can't take it!"

"What the hell was that?" yelled Dotty. The Joker stopped laughing and grabbed her by the throat.

"That," he growled, "was the pie I had delivered to me an hour ago from this bakery."

"An…hour?" choked out Dotty, as she clawed at the Joker's hand. He only squeezed her tighter.

"Yes, and do you know what I found on it? A hair!" He shook Dotty so hard that she thought she felt her brain rattle in her skull.

"I told the delivery boy that I wanted a refund, and do you know what he did? He started sniveling about how I never actually paid him! What kind of shabby excuse for service is that, I ask you?"

"The delivery boy?" gasped Dotty.

"Yes. He was a sullen, insolent youth, but don't worry. I made sure to leave him with a smile!" The Joker threw his head back and laughed the most evil sounding laugh Dotty had ever heard.

"Oh no, Alex!" sobbed Bernice. Dotty could barely hear her over the Joker's laughter.

"What…what do you want?" asked Dotty, tears starting to form in her own eyes.

The Joker gasped for breath as his laughter started to fade. He looked Dotty directly in the eye.

"Two things. First I want my refund."

"Right…Bernice…cash register," said Dotty in between breaths.

"Don't interrupt!" snapped the Joker. He motioned to Johanna with his gun.

"You. Blonde one. Cash Register." Dotty heard the sound of the cash register opening.

"Second, I want to know who shed their hair in my pie. The hair was dark. I see only two people with dark hair here," the Joker pointed his gun at Bernice and then back at Dotty, "so which one of you wants to confess."

Neither Dotty nor Bernice spoke.

The Joker let out a mock sigh. "Okay, fine. I guess I'll just have to kill you both. Oh well!"

Dotty heard Bernice half scream half sob. She felt the former numbness start to return, and somehow mesh with panic. The Joker's laughter stung her ears. Then there was a crash, and one of the Joker's thugs was pulled out the bakery's front window. The other two thugs started shooting. People screamed. Dotty squeezed her eyes shut and waited for it to stop. When she opened her eyes, the Joker was no longer looking at her, and he was no longer smiling.

"I don't see anything," said one of the thugs.

"Then go outside and look for something to shoot at!" yelled the Joker. The thug obeyed, while his colleague kept his gun aimed at the window. A low, ominous chuckle crept up from the Joker's chest, as he turned back to Dotty.

"Congratulations, you might be looking at a promotion from gun fodder, to hostage. Unfortunately, for your friends, I only have one position open—hey where'd they go?"

Dotty could see Johanna and Bernice huddled under the counter out of the corner of her eye. She raised her eyes back up to the Joker before he could notice. The Joker growled and squeezed Dotty's throat so hard that she saw spots.

He's losing control of the situation, thought Dotty. He's losing control, and he knows it.

"Hey, boss, I think I see something—oh!" a thud punctuated the end of the thug's sentence as he hit the floor. Something black and oddly shaped boomeranged off the thug's head and into the hand of what Dotty only thought could be described as a man.

The creature crouched in what was left of the bakery's window was so dark that it almost blended into the night, except for a strong, square chin that peeked out from underneath a black cowl. His eyes were what disturbed Dotty the most: they were soulless white slits that were narrowed on her and the Joker.

"Bats!" exclaimed the Joker, "Fancy seeing you here. Are you here to place an order too? I'm afraid you'll have to be patient; I think my order's about to make poor Dorothy here lose her mind...and everything else between her ears."

"Let her go, Joker," said the Batman in an unnaturally low, gravelly voice. The Joker just laughed and stroked Dotty's face with his gun.

"Let her go? But we were just starting to get to know each other."

Dotty's mind was spinning even as her vision started to blur. It was getting harder and harder to take in a breath as the Joker kept his grip on Dotty's throat. Her hands felt slow and heavy as she felt across the counter for something—a pencil, a knife—anything that she could use to break the Joker's grip. She grabbed the first thing her fingers brushed against and, before she realized what she was doing, thrust it into the Joker's eye.

The Joker howled and released her, probably to pull whatever Dotty had grabbed out of his eye. Dotty didn't stop to watch, and slumped under the counter with Bernice and Johanna. She coughed as air came back into her lungs. She could hear the Joker screaming above her.

"Why you little—" He was cut off by the sound of a struggle.

"Dotty, are you all right?"

Dotty turned her head towards Johanna. Her eyes looked wider than her glasses. Dotty licked her lips and nodded. The noise above their heads went silent.

"Do you think he killed him?" whispered Bernice. If her throat hadn't been throbbing Dotty would have asked her who was who in that sentence. Instead, she looked up. A pair of glowing white eyes met hers.

"It's all right," said Batman, in a gentler tone than he'd used with the Joker. "I've got him cuffed. You're safe."

Johanna and Bernice crawled to each side of Dotty and helped her stand. Glass covered the floor of the bakery; tables were overturned; the customers were either still frozen in place or running out the door. One guy even jumped out the shattered front window. The Joker was lying face down on the floor, with his hands cuffed behind him. He rolled over and looked directly at Dotty. Her hand flew to her mouth when she saw his face, and Bernice made a strangled sound. Johanna started laughing; she laughed so hard she sounded hysterical.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, "but is that cupcake frosting on his face?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3, Without Rest

The police arrived with an ambulance less than five minutes after Batman tackled the Joker to the ground, but by then, Batman had already left with the Clown Prince of Crime handcuffed in his Batmobile. Dotty had no idea how Batman knew about the robbery, or who called the police. She didn't really care.

Dotty didn't remember much of what happened once the police arrived; she felt detached from everything that was happening around her. Even when the paramedics examined the purple and yellow bruises on her throat, Dotty had felt like one of the spectators that were gathered on the sidewalk across the street. The police asked her questions that she couldn't remember, and her throat hurt too much for her to answer them anyway. She thought that Bernice may have grabbed her hand and said something to her too, but she had been crying too hard to be intelligible. It wasn't until the paramedics were helping Dotty into the ambulance—explaining that they didn't think the Joker had damaged her windpipes but he _did_ nearly asphyxiated her, and that _did_ warrant a trip to the hospital—that she realized that she had almost been murdered.

The doctors at Gotham General Hospital had had the same opinion as the paramedics: Dotty hadn't sustained any serious damage, but it was best that she stay overnight for observation. Dotty wished she could have slept at her apartment. Hospitals creeped her out, especially at night. They were too quiet, and smelled like urine and chemicals.

Dotty planned to make the best of her stay by pulling the covers of her hospital bed over her head and pretending that she was somewhere else. Unfortunately, every time Dotty would start to doze off the Joker's horrible laughter would echo through her brain, and she would jolt awake, expecting to see the Harlequin of Hate standing over her with the same smile he'd worn when he'd promised to kill her. Dotty even thought she saw a shadow crouched outside her window at one point, but when she'd gotten up to turn on the light of her room it was gone. She kept the light on for the rest of the night after that.

By about four a.m., after hours of tossing and turning, Dotty decided it was time to give up on sleep and just watch the T.V. mounted on the wall of her room. There was nothing on that early except infomercials, but Dotty didn't care what she watched as long as it gave her something else to think about besides the Joker and the Batman. Dotty was grateful to Batman for saving her life, even though he had been almost as frightened of him as she had been of the Joker.

Dotty didn't know how much more time passed, as she listened to a smiling blonde woman explain the benefits of Botox to her, before the door to her room opened. She expected to see one of the nurses, hopefully there to announce that she could leave, but instead Johanna walked in carrying a golf club and a pink, cardboard box.

"Hey Dotty," said Johanna, pulling a chair over to Dotty's bed and sitting down, "how are you doing?"

Dotty made gave her thumbs up sign. It still hurt to talk.

"How did you sleep?" asked Johanna.

Dotty stuck out her tongue and gave Johanna two thumbs down.

"Nightmares?" asked Johanna. Dotty nodded.

"Me too," said Johanna. Dotty pointed to Johanna's golf club.

"This? I took it out of my boyfriend's car this morning. Every time I turn a corner I'm afraid I'm going to run into Him," said Johanna.

Dotty nodded.

"They found Alex, by the way," said Johanna, "the funeral's next week. It's going to be closed casket."

Dotty shuddered. Truthfully, she had never liked Alex that much. He was always late for work and he never looked Dotty, or any other woman at the bakery, in the eye when he spoke to them. Dotty had never really known Alex that well either though. She knew that Alex was a student at Gotham University, but she couldn't remember if he'd ever said what he was studying. He probably had friends at school, and a family somewhere, maybe even outside of Gotham. Did he have a girlfriend too? Maybe he called her every night once he got off work. She probably waited all night last night for him to call…

Johanna interrupted Dotty's thoughts by tossing the pink box onto her lap.

"Breakfast from Bernice," Johanna explained.

Dotty opened the box. It was full of brownies, some with frosting, some with sprinkles, and some plain. Dotty recognized them as leftovers from last night. She and Johanna always slipped leftovers into their purses when they thought Bernice wasn't looking. Dotty wondered just then if Bernice may have been more observant than they gave her credit for.

"She says they're 'thank-you-for-saving-my-life-brownies'," said Johanna, tapping the golf club against the heel of her shoes. "She's convinced that if you hadn't lied about being the manager, the Joker would have killed her the moment she spoke up. She definitely wouldn't have stayed as calm as you did. I asked her if she wanted to bring them herself, but she said that she had to oversee repairs to the bakery today."

Dotty thought it was funny that the man who saved her life caused more property damage than the man who tried to end it. Not funny enough to laugh about, though.

"Personally, I think that she should have called them 'sorry-for-almost-letting-you-get-killed-for-me-brownies,'" said Johanna.

Dotty put the lid back on the box.

"He would have killed us all anyway," Dotty croaked out in a thin voice, "and she would have done the same for me."

"No she wouldn't have, but, then again, who am I to talk?" said Johanna, still tapping her golf club in time with every word. "After all, I just stood there and watched while that psycho roughed you up, and when the opportunity came I was hiding right next to Bernice I wanted to help you, you know, but he had a gun and he was acting so crazy and I was so scared…"

Dotty reached over and grabbed Johanna's hand. The tapping stopped. Johanna looked down at her lap, her hair falling over her face.

"I'm so sorry Dotty," she said.

"I was scared too," Dotty croaked. "We all were scared."

Johanna lifted her eyes back to Dotty.

"Not too scared to shove a cupcake in the Joker's face," said Johanna with a forced laugh. "That really was funny; I told you that you came up with your best stuff on the fly. He throws a pie in your face so you throw a cupcake in his? Was that the joke?"

Dotty let go of Johanna's hand. "No," she said, "there was no joke."

"Right," said Johanna, "sorry. I guess it really isn't that funny after all."

Dotty opened the box again and took out two brownies. She handed one to Johanna and took a bite of the second one.

"I guess it kind of is," said Dotty, wincing as she swallowed. "I mean, what lunatic flips their lid over a hair in their pie, anyway?"

Johanna forced another laugh and looked up at the T.V.

"Uh, Dotty," she said, "I think you're on the news."

Miles away from Gotham General, Bruce Wayne sat in his mansion watching the news in his bathrobe while his butler, Alfred, poured him coffee. Ugly purple bruises dotted his knuckles: the consequence of pulling a man through a glass window. A larger bruise bloomed just above his jawline, where the Joker had managed to land a punch as Bruce struggled to handcuff him. The bruises were mild irritations. His concern was the morning newscast, where the words "Joker Gets His Just Deserts!" floated behind the head of the reporter, Summer Gleeson.

"Last night the Gotham City Police Department received a text from inside a bakery known as 'The Cake Lair' where the infamous Joker was staging a robbery. Witnesses say that the Clown Prince of Crime was angry about a hair he'd found in a pie from that same bakery," she said.

Bruce rolled his eyes. Only the Joker would hold up a bakery over something so small.

"The Joker was apprehended by the equally infamous Batman," Summer continued, "but not before bakery employee, Dorothy 'Dotty' Davis, gave the Joker her own form of poetic justice."

The footage switched to a video that looked like it had been filmed on someone's cellphone. Someone with shaky hands. It depicted the woman from the bakery hitting the Joker in the face with a cupcake. Bruce winced and turned off the T.V.

"What was that on the young lady's face?" asked Alfred.

"The pie, I think," said Bruce.

"Rather ironic, isn't it sir? She gave him a taste of his own medicine. I take that our funny friend won't see the humor in it too, though?"

"No," said Bruce, taking a sip of coffee, "in his mind, she not only humiliated him, she upstaged him."

"Somehow, I doubt that was the young lady's intentions when she did it," said Alfred, "but I suppose that he won't care?"

Bruce shook his head. He'd known it when he'd dragged the Joker out of the bakery. Usually, after being caught, the Joker would yell threats at him or make bad jokes on his way to the Batmobile, the police cruiser, or whatever his means of transportation back to Arkham were, but last night he hadn't said a word. He'd kept his eyes on Ms. Davis. Bruce didn't like it. The Joker resumed his usual annoying mannerisms once Bruce had loaded him into the Batmobile and taken him out of sight of the bakery, but Bruce was still unsettled.

After making sure that the Joker was correctly processed and locked back in his cell, Bruce went to Gotham General to check on Ms. Davis, as was his custom with almost every individual he rescued. Physically, she looked fine, but she didn't appear to be sleeping well. Bruce empathized with her; he was certain that they would both lose more sleep, unless the Joker remained in Arkham, where he belonged.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: Hey guys! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed my story! A special shout out to Gia's Soul: you're feedback was very helpful in writing this chapter. I'm having a blast writing this story and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

Car Troubles, Part 1

The Joker's cell in Arkham had no windows. His previous cells had windows though. The last cell window the Joker looked out of had been ten feet above the ground with steel bars. It still made the Joker laugh when he remembered the look on the security guards' faces as they watched him run across the asylum's courtyard from that same, bar-less window. For the past month, though, the Joker had woken up to a view of a dark, cement hallway filled with the dank, cells of his fellow inmates. He decided that he was going to have to look for a change in venues soon. For the time being he would content himself each morning by leaning back on his cot, putting his feet up against his sink, and letting the world drift away as he read the morning paper he had delivered to him by Fred, the orderly he was blackmailing

"Joker," Fred the orderly stood in front of the bullet proof glass front of the Joker's cell, holding a tray.

"Oh, good morning, Freddie!" the Joker said, hopping up from his cot. "Beautiful day in the neighborhood, ain't it?"

Fred's face tensed. "I'm going to slide your breakfast tray in through the drawer," he said, "do not approach the glass until I have moved away."

"Whatever you say, slide it on in, I'm ready Freddy," the Joker said with a laugh.

"Lunatic," Fred mumbled as he slid the Joker's tray in through the drawer.

As Fred started to walk away the Joker called out, "Be sure to tell the wife and kids that their Uncle J. said hi!"

Fred stopped. For a moment the Joker thought that he was going to turn around and say something back to him, but instead he kept walking. The Joker chuckled as he turned to his breakfast tray. The Gotham Gazette was hidden under a bowel of gray sludge that may have been oatmeal, but it was hard to tell from the smell. The Joker had to have his meals delivered to him because he was no longer allowed to dine in the cafeteria with the other inmates; he had been deemed a disruptive influence. Unfair, in the Joker's opinion. A man starts one or ten food fights and he's never allowed to forget it.

He tossed his bowl of oatmeal into the sink and unfolded the paper. The front page had a black and white picture of a police officer standing next to a convertible. The Joker didn't recognize the officer—as far as he was concerned the officer was just another one of Gordon's trained monkeys—but he did recognize the car. The headline above it read, "Female Crime Duo's Car Impounded; Owners Escape Police on Foot." The Joker cackled and turned to the entertainment page.

"Oh, stop the presses," he said to himself, "we have breaking news."

The main article of the entertainment section was entitled "Robbery Survivor Has Reason to Smile: New Comedian Leaves Gotham in Stitches." Below the title was a picture of Dorothy Davis standing on a stage, smiling, and holding a cupcake. The Joker took a sharpie—one of the few writing utensils he was allowed—out from under his pillow and drew a moustache on Dorothy's face.

It wasn't the first article that the Joker had read about Dorothy, he had a collection of articles and personal documents about her hidden under his mattress. He had been amused, to say the least, when he'd found out that the sweet, unassuming woman he'd met at a bakery almost a month ago was a fellow comedian, and he was sure that Gotham's mindless masses had found her quick rise from frosting cupcakes to fame inspiring. However, the Joker knew, from experience, that comedy could be _killer_ , and he decided that he was going to personally make sure that Dorothy Davis kept on smiling, whether she wanted to or not.

"I don't think it's such a bad picture."

Dotty sat in the office of Allister Jenkins, the owner of Allister's Follies, the comedy club she worked at, and crinkled her nose at her picture in the paper. Dotty was not a pretty woman, except from certain angles. Most people described her face as "interesting" or "expressive." Her own mother had once called her face "one that people remembered." That wasn't what bothered her about the picture though.

"I just wish the photographer hadn't insisted on that cupcake," said Dotty tossing the paper onto Allister's desk.

Allister reclined across from her. He was a stout man, without being fat, and had a salt colored cowlick that was greased back. He took a box of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

Dotty thought about saying no, but, instead, she just shrugged.

"It's your office," she said.

Allister struck a match on his desk, and lit his cigarette. He closed his eyes and took a long drag before he spoke again.

"You're the woman who stood up to the Joker," he said picking up the paper. "That makes you something of a hero."

"I'm not a hero," said Dotty, "I'm a comedian."

After she was released from the hospital, Dotty hadn't had much to do until the bakery reopened, except work on the skit she'd promised Allister. For the first time in weeks she'd felt inspired, and had written a skit about a woman with a fear of needles showing up for her first day of work at a hospital. Allister had laughed when he read it, the other comedians had laughed when they'd rehearsed it, and, most importantly, the audience had laughed when Dotty performed it for them. It had been the biggest audience the club ever had. Dotty learned, both to her delight and consternation, that it had been because of her.

Allister tipped his head back and blew more smoke into the air. A cloud of the nicotine scented mist was forming over his and Dotty's heads. Dotty cleared her throat to dispel the cough that was starting to form.

"I just wish that that reporter could have kept the focus on me and the club," said Dotty.

"It's still a good article," said Allister, "and it does bring focus to the club. You're our headlining act. When people come to see you, the club gets the exposure."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," said Dotty.

"Speaking of exposure, how's the publicity effected your friends' bakery?" Allister asked.

"It was a little slow for a while," said Dotty, "but now it's starting to pick back up again."

"Yeah, nothin' hurts business more than being robbed by a costumed crazy," said Allister.

"Oh no, sir, it wasn't the costumed crazy that scared people away, it was the hair that he found in one of our pies," said Dotty.

Allister laughed, sucking in a cloud of smoke, and starting coughing.

"Are you okay?" asked Dotty.

Allister's face was starting to turn red; he sucked in a breath.

"Yeah," he wheezed, "I'm fine. That was funny. You should incorporate that into one of your acts somehow. You have to address what happened to you sometime."

Allister blew smoke into Dotty's face, and she coughed in her turn.

"No, sir," she choked out, "I already told you: I'm not going to address the robbery in any of my acts."

Allister blew more smoke at her.

"Dotty, it happened. You survived. Now try to laugh about it."

Dotty waved the smoke away from her face.

"Yes, sir," she said, "I did survive, but one of my coworkers did not. I don't think that's funny."

Allister crushed his cigarette into the ash tray on his desk.

"I won't push it then," he said, "but let me know if you change your mind."

Dotty nodded and stood up, grabbing her trench coat off her chair and her hat off Allister's desk.

"I'll see you in a few days with a new skit, then," said Dotty, "I have to go meet some friends for lunch right now."

"Have a good time," said Allister, striking a new match on his desk.

Dotty nodded to Allister, and walked out of his office before he had a chance to light a new cigarette. Allister was nice, in Dotty's opinion, but she sometimes thought that he was a little insensitive.

She decided to leave the club through the back exit. The hallway was dark, except for a few bulbs on the ceiling that shone down on the black and white pictures of the clubs past performers that lined the walls. Dotty thought that the lights looked like spotlights on the pictures' subjects. In every picture, the performer was standing in front of a laughing audience. Most of the performers on the wall had gone on to bigger audiences in Gotham than just Allister's Follies, Dotty had even named a few of them as sources of inspiration in her interview. That was what drove her, the chance to make Gotham laugh.

Heaven knew it needed it.


End file.
